


the chariot

by oryx



Category: Danball Senki
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1924941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sendou lets his temper get the best of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the chariot

**Author's Note:**

> in a writing slump? just pound out 2000 words of dumb fluffy bullshit apparently

“You into LBX?” a voice says, raised to be heard over the noise of the bar.

 

Daiki turns to find the guy next to him – short-cropped hair, muscle shirt, aviators perched on top of his head – smiling genially. _Oh, fucking wonderful_ , he thinks. Small talk. His least favorite part of drinking in public.

 

“Yep,” he says coolly, glancing back towards the television and propping his arm up on the counter, trying to create a barrier between himself and the stranger. It does not work.

 

“Me too, man. Me too. My roommate’s always on my case about being into ‘kiddy shit’ but fuck that, right? He’s doesn’t know what the hell he’s talkin’ about. Who’re you rooting for? In the next match, I mean?”

 

The current match ends as he speaks – the winner is some teenage punk with a garishly over-modded Salamander – and the names of the next round’s opponents are displayed up on the screen. Immediately, the noise level in the bar goes up a notch. This is the one everyone’s been waiting for.

 

“… Kojou,” Daiki says finally. He stares into his martini thoughtfully before taking a sip. “Gouda’s been getting a little too cocky lately. Someone needs to take him down a peg.”

 

The stranger laughs. “Right? Can’t fucking _stand_ that guy.”

 

Daiki pauses, drink halfway to his lips.

 

Slowly, he lowers it back down to the counter.

 

“Yeah?” he says, ignoring the voice shouting _just let it go_ in the back of his mind. “Why’s that?”

 

“Seriously? C’mon, the guy’s obviously a douchebag. Always wears those ugly-ass suits like he’s looking for attention.” The stranger scowls up at the screen, where the camera has just zoomed in on Hanzou’s smiling face. “Plus he’s got all those hot chicks screaming his name at every damn tournament. Acts like he doesn’t even notice, but you know he’s probably fucked a bunch of ‘em.”

 

The background noise of the bar suddenly seems rather muted, as if someone has turned down the volume. Daiki can hear himself breathing.

 

“Seems like _such_ a dumbass, too,” the stranger continues. “I’ve read some of his interviews and it’s just like… No wonder he ended up going pro, right? He’s not smart enough to do anything other than play LBX. Not that he’s so great at that, either. Most of his wins have been luck, if you ask me. Hell, for that one last month I think he probably paid Fujimaki to throw the match.”

 

“You think so?” Daiki can hear himself say, a biting acidity to his words.

 

“Oh, definitely.” The stranger nods. “No way that moron coulda won otherwise.”

 

Distantly, Daiki can feel his grip tighten around the stem of his glass.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

“I gotta say, man, I always expected one of us to end up in the slammer. But honestly? I kinda thought it would be me. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” Hanzou grins at him through the bars of the holding cell, and Daiki glowers right back.

 

“Ha fucking ha,” he sneers. “Just get me out of here, Hanzou. If I have to stay here any longer I might _actually_ hurt someone.” The two drunks sharing the cell with him have been singing some sort of nonsense song for the past ten minutes, and he is swiftly nearing his wit’s end.

 

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Hanzou steps aside, and the cop accompanying him swipes her card key to open the cell door.

 

“You’re free to go,” she says, with a disapproving stare. “No more attacking people ten times weaker than yourself, alright? …Or _anyone_ , really, but you know what I mean. You’re lucky – he seems too embarrassed by the whole ordeal to press charges.”

 

“What,” Hanzou laughs, slinging an arm around Daiki’s shoulders, “he doesn’t wanna fess up to getting his ass handed to him by some long-haired pretty boy?”

 

“…I imagine that might be part of it,” the cop says with a wry smile, then seems to remember herself, clearing her throat and turning sharp on her heel, gesturing for them to follow her down the hall. In the lobby she returns his personal belongings to him, and he snatches his tarot cards back with a scowl. ‘Just policy,’ she’d said, back when she’d _stolen_ them. Right. Like he’s going to stage a jailbreak with a couple of laminated pieces of paper.

 

“So what’s the story here?” Hanzou asks. “What’d this guy do to deserve a beatdown?”

 

Daiki sighs and drags a hand across his face tiredly. “Does it really matter?” he says. God, all he wants to do is go home and sleep and forget about this entire shitty night. He pushes open the doors of the precinct and steps outside, breathing in the night air with barely-disguised relief. A few hours holed up in that place was a few hours too many.

 

“…What?” Hanzou says, jogging to catch up with him. “Of course it fucking matters! You ended up in _jail_ , Daiki. People don’t call the cops over a single punch. You must’ve really wailed on that guy, right? The hell did he do?”

 

Daiki rolls his eyes. “Maybe he didn’t do anything, Hanzou. Maybe I just didn’t like his face. Who gives a shit? It’s over, it’s done, and I don’t want to fucking talk about it.”

 

Before he can react, he is being pulled backwards, spun around, and slammed up against the wall of the precinct. He narrowly avoids hitting the back of his head against the brick.

 

“Oi, what the hell??”

 

“That should be my line,” Hanzou hisses. He’s got an arm pressed against Daiki’s chest, pinning him in place. “I come to bail your ass out and you can’t even give me a straight answer?” A look of dawning horror flickers across his face, then. “Shit, don’t tell me he… Did he try something? If he touched you I swear I’ll hunt him down and kill him myself – ”

 

“Oh my fucking god,” Daiki groans. “Please, just… stop talking. He didn’t _molest_ me, if that’s what you’re implying. You really think he’d still be able to _walk_ if he had?”

 

Hanzou looks relieved for a moment, but that peevish, stubborn expression quickly falls back into place. “So what, then?” he demands. “There had to have been a reason.”

 

“And why’s that? Maybe I was just in the mood. God, why’re you being so obnoxious about this? A few years back I wouldn’t have had to explain myself to you.”

 

“Yeah, and I like to think things have changed since then,” Hanzou snarls. Daiki hasn’t seen him this worked up in months. The arm against his chest is pressing painfully tight, now. “We’re not in fucking highschool anymore, Daiki. We’re not the same dumbass delinquent brats we used to be. I thought we’d agreed to put that shit behind us – ”

 

“He insulted you, alright?”

 

Hanzou blinks.

 

“He was talking shit about you, and it was pissing me off, and I – ” Daiki breaks off, hurriedly averting his eyes. “And I didn’t mean to hit him but it just _happened_ , okay? One second I’m sitting there at the bar and the next…” He looks down at his hand and clenches his fist, knuckles still red and raw from where they’d connected with the guy’s teeth.

 

The pressure against his chest lessens as Hanzou steps back.

 

“…You’re serious?” he says. He sounds stunned.

 

“Tch. Obviously. As if I’d make that shit up.”

 

Seconds tick past as they stand there in silence.

 

“…You got in a bar fight,” Hanzou says slowly, “to… defend my honor?”

 

“Wasn’t much of a fight,” Daiki mutters. His face feels rather warm. “I don’t think that asshole even _tried_ to hit me back.”

 

“Yeah, but still, that’s…” Hanzou trails off, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. He ducks his head, looking pointedly down at the pavement, and the tips of his ears are a bright shade of pink.

 

“It’s not that big a deal,” Daiki says quietly. “Just forget about it, alright?” He clears his throat awkwardly. “Now come on, dumbass. We’re gonna miss the last train at this rate.”

 

.

 

.

 

“I’d do the same thing,” Hanzou blurts out.

 

Daiki glances over at him, sidelong and questioning. It’s quiet on the train, which is to be expected. It is nearing three in the morning, after all. The only other occupants in the car are a gaggle of somewhat-inebriated college girls who look like they just hopped one too many nightclubs.

 

“If someone was talking shit about you, I mean,” Hanzou continues, looking him straight in the eye, a faint redness high in his cheeks. “I’d fuck ‘em up.”

 

Daiki holds his gaze for a moment, taken aback by the sheer intensity in his voice.

 

“…I know you would, idiot,” he says gruffly, turning to stare out the window. “Your temper’s almost as bad as mine. …Oh, and speaking of – don’t tell anyone about this, alright? Especially not Kiyoka. She’s been making me do these… ‘breathing exercises’ lately. Says it’s supposed to ‘help with my anger’ or something. It doesn’t do shit, but I don’t want her to know that, okay? So keep your mouth shut.”

 

The corner of Hanzou’s mouth twitches. “Breathing exercises?” he echoes. “ _That’s_ what you guys do on face chat? _Breathing exercises_?” His shoulders begin to shake with quiet laughter, and the look in his eyes plainly says ‘I’m never going to let you live this one down.’ “What’s next, meditation? Maybe some tai chi?”

 

“Maybe,” Daiki says with a sneer. “You got some kind of problem with that?”

 

Hanzou lifts his hands in mock surrender, still laughing softly to himself. “Hey, no way, man. That’s pretty fuckin’ adorable if you ask me.”

 

Daiki’s about to make a biting, sarcastic reply when he feels Hanzou’s hand settle against his own. Hanzou ‘hmm’s thoughtfully as his thumb brushes across Daiki’s still-sore knuckles, a light, barely-there touch that sends a shiver up his arm. A moment later and he’s flipping Daiki’s hand over; curling their fingers together and squeezing tight, palm pressed warm against his own.

 

“Oi, the hell are you doing?” Daiki mutters. Holding hands? What are they, middle schoolers?

 

But Hanzou simply smiles in response, leaning back casually in his seat and turning to watch the city lights as they flash by through the window. Minutes pass and he still shows no sign of letting go of Daiki’s hand.

 

 _Whatever_ , Daiki thinks with a sigh. It’s not as if there’s anyone around to see (anyone sober, that is). And it’s not… _entirely_ unpleasant.

 

“Did you win?” he asks.

 

Hanzou blinks at him in confusion.

 

“Against Asuka, you moron. Did you win?”

 

“Oh,” Hanzou laughs. “Hell yeah I did. I mean, it was close. It always is with her. But I got her this time. I’ve lost against her the past eight matches, but it’s finally her turn to buy _me_ dinner.” The glint in his eye is more determined than amused, now. “And I’m gonna beat her at the pro tournament too. My final revenge for Artemis ’51.”

 

Daiki almost laughs. Almost says “you’re still preoccupied with that? Isn’t it time to move on?” But he doesn’t say it, in the end. Because he gets it. Six years later and he still thinks about it, too. It had felt like their year. They’d put their differences aside. They’d both changed for the better. In a perfect world, that should have been enough. (But so much that’s happened, good and bad, never would have happened in a perfect world.)

 

“Hey, what do the cards say about my chances?” Hanzou asks, grinning.

 

Daiki rolls his eyes and reaches for his deck.

 

The reversed Chariot. The card of victory, turned on its head.

 

“They say you’ve got no chance in hell.”

 

Hanzou’s smile falters instantly, curving into a scowl.

 

“But,” he continues, “…who gives a fuck what the cards say?”

 

Hanzou’s eyes widen. He stares at him in shock. “Wait, what? Are you… are you really Daiki? Did I bail the wrong person out of jail?”

 

“Oh, shut up. The cards can’t predict anything exactly, you know. Sometimes they get things wrong. And I happen to think that _this_ is one of those times. You _are_ going to win the pro tournament.” His free hand clenches into a fist. “So I can find that douche I punched and rub it in his face.”

 

Hanzou laughs loud enough to attract the attention of their fellow passengers.

 

“Yeah, alright,” he says, and his expression is soft. His fingers curl a little tighter around Daiki’s own. “This time I'll win it. For sure.”


End file.
